


did i really say that out loud (promise me)

by iamthegeneralissimo



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, canon adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 10:09:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18519286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamthegeneralissimo/pseuds/iamthegeneralissimo
Summary: In which Waverly doesn’t mind telling Nicole how wet she is, but struggles to articulate the hot mess that is her emotions.—“When Nicole leaves, Waverly finds herself kneeling on the cold, packed ground of their makeshift graveyard asking, ‘What should I do, Pikachu? I really like her. Love her, even.’ She looks over at all the other hamster headstones. Master Splinter. Rizzo. Peter Pettigrew. ‘Tell me what to do,’ she implores.”





	did i really say that out loud (promise me)

Waverly can’t help but wonder, as Champ moves inside her, whether she _should_ buy Officer Haught that cappuccino. She thinks back to when Nicole introduced herself at Shorty’s, playing the memory in her head all pleasant-like before she groans, mostly to herself.

‘ _I’m sopping wet’—did I really say that out loud?_

Champ mistakes the sound for a sign of encouragement and races to the finish line. ‘Did you—’ She nods before he’s even rolled off her.

She dumps him the next day.

 

/

 

Wynonna’s at Shorty’s before she is, on her haunches behind the bar and shuffling bottles around. ‘Where’s all the proper liquor, dammit,’ she mutters. ‘I guess this’ll have to — oh, hey, baby girl.’

Wynonna tosses her mane back from her face to find Waverly with her hands on her hips staring back at her. She holds her bounty up like a trophy. ‘Imma go with this wine for a nice, classy change of pace. And look! It’s from—’ Wynonna squints at the bottle and mumbles, ‘—Michigan? What the _what_?’

This does nothing to derail the older Earp as she expresses how glad she is now that Waverly’s dumped Champ, how she deserves so much better than some washed up, rodeo-clown-man-boy. ‘But don’t you go rushing into anything new now, hear?’ She uncorks the bottle using her teeth.

‘I’m a happily single Virgo with hair for days,’ Waverly reassures her with a swish of her own locks. Eventually she manages to shoo Wynonna out the door so she can finish setting up for the night. It’s busier than normal for a Friday and after she dumps the byproducts of revelry into the back alley bins, she fishes out the Purgatory Sheriff Department calling card she’s stashed in her back pocket. The light from her phone throws folds and creases into relief, and Waverly deduces there’s only so many times she can take it in and out of her pocket before it falls apart in her hands.

‘Officer Nicole _Haught_.’ Waverly laughs because it’s so fucking perfect. She dials the number, her tongue between her teeth.

 

/

 

At the precinct, Dolls watches with impassive eyes as she brings him up to speed on her Ghost River Triangle research. She’s waving her hands around, handing him case files and reams of notes, excited to be a part of something, anything. Wynonna is too busy making out with a maple bar to hear the knock on the door.

Nicole walks in with an armful of dossiers. She and Dolls speak in hushed tones before she turns, tips the brim of her Stetson at Wynonna’s general direction and winks at Waverly. She feels her breath catch and vaguely registers Wynonna saying, ‘Later, Haught-stuff,’ through a mouthful of cinnamon twist.

 

/

 

Waverly drives around the precinct three times before parking her Jeep in the lot. She kills the engine and checks her reflection in the rearview mirror. ‘I’ve faced hellspawn and literal fire and brimstone,’ she takes a deep breath. ‘And Wynonna without coffee. I shouldn’t be scared of some girl.’

She exits the vehicle and nearly walks straight into Nicole. It takes all of her willpower not to swoon at the sight of her in uniform. Their exchange is bizarre, even for Waverly, and Nicole tilts her head, a question on her lips—

‘—I get it, you’re a lesbian, not a unicorn.’

‘What?’

‘What?’

Smash cut to Nedley’s office hours later and she feels like she’s run a marathon. Words tumble continuously from her mouth with joyous abandon. It’s way too hot to be wearing a knit cardigan and scarf, and Waverly thinks she’d like to give her left arm to be able to run even just one hand through all that fiery hair. She’d do anything to see Nicole _undone_.

Nicole, who is apparently a mind reader in addition to being a professional ass-kicker, manages to quip, ‘Just friends, huh?’ They press their smiles together.

 

/

 

Waverly’s terrified because it’s too good too soon, and she feels a little too sure about this. She sifts through memes— _something about U-Hauls and turkey basters_ —in between conducting more research for Black Badge and brushing up on her Assyrian.

She reaches for her mug of cocoa and takes a sip, surveying the sheaf of parchment before her. Nicole pads over from the bed, fully clothed and with a back issue of Guns and Ammo slack in her hand. ‘Hey, you,’ she murmurs into Waverly’s neck.

‘Hey.’ she tilts her head to accommodate Nicole but bites her tongue to stop her from blurting out something declarative. Emotional. Permanent. Shouldn’t it be impossible, she wonders, to love someone so deeply so soon? She clings to science and math and logic, and this, she decides, is entirely illogical.

They spend half an hour making out anyway until they hear Wynonna pull up on the homestead. They dress with practiced ease and settle in the kitchen, toes touching just so, when Wynonna walks in with an armful of groceries.

‘Waverly, your shirt’s inside out,’ Wynonna observes as she puts the last can of peaches away.

 

/

 

When Nicole leaves, Waverly finds herself kneeling on the cold, packed ground of their makeshift graveyard asking, ‘What should I do, Pikachu? I really like her. Love her, even.’

She looks over at all the other hamster headstones. Master Splinter. Rizzo. Peter Pettigrew. ‘Tell me what to do,’ she implores.

Then she drives all the way out to the Badlands to clear her mind. She plays twangy country love songs because she’s dug this grave so deep she may as enjoy the soundtrack.

 

/

 

She knows when Willa cocks the gun in Nicole’s direction. Whispers those words to Wynonna, despite herself, hoping Nicole doesn’t hear just yet because she wants to tell her under better circumstances. She wants to be able to tell Nicole on the homestead, under the stars, in her arms—anywhere other than here, any time other than now.

And when Willa pulls the trigger, she knows. That she would have died right there on that ugly linoleum floor if the bullet had really ripped through her love.

 

/

 

She’s smearing ointment onto Nicole’s chest—her poor, brave baby—and she still can’t muster up the courage to articulate the jumbled mess that is her insides.

She’s scrubbed gunpowder residue from under her nails since she was nine and the cold steel of her sawed-off is as familiar to her as breathing so she forces herself to feel, _really feel_ , how alive Nicole is under her. Praying she would understand through the whorls of her fingertips just how far they strayed on that precipice.

She does her best to even out her breathing at the sight of all that exposed skin and barely notices when Doc shuffles in wearing Wynonna’s fuzzy pink slippers, mumbling something about sweet tea.

 

/

 

After the raid on Black Badge, she puts away the red cat-eye glasses and the rest of her disguise in her dresser. She takes a moment to congratulate herself. The British accent was a nice touch and she’s decided she doesn’t much care what anyone else thinks.

Suddenly Nicole is there with a manila envelope and a promise, and before she has a chance to catch her breath their mouths meet and both sets of hands start to wander.

The kisses are slow and languid at first. Waverly tilts her head and tastes coffee and strawberry lip balm. She runs her hands over the fabric of Nicole’s shirt—dipping in closer to smell fresh detergent—marvels at all that warm skin underneath, and relishes in the steady thrum of her heart. She fumbles with Nicole’s belt buckle and stares openly at the swell of skin above burgundy bra cups. Nicole is equally struck dumb when Waverly slides her lace skirt over slim hips, and she’s unsure whether she would have preferred to have them bunched up around her thighs instead. They’re all winners in either scenario, she thinks wryly.

They topple onto the bed even as Nicole is asking her whether she’s sure— _really_ _sure, baby_ —about this. It’s a question she finds adorable and it makes her heart swell, giving Waverly pause. ‘I’m really sure that I want you, yes.’ And that is more than enough for Nicole.

She does her best to convey every iota of feeling as they shed the rest of their of clothing, as her nails drag against Nicole’s back, and as she encounters for the first and definitely not the last time in her life a heady, slick heat. She wonders if there’s anything in the world that might compare to this bliss and decides she doesn’t want or need to know anything other than the fact that the woman beneath her is uttering her name like a prayer. Like seeking absolution for a sinner.

And it’s a little sinful, sure, the way she delights in the fistful of Nicole’s hair, memories of Champ’s shellacked updo and hard planes fading with every eager noise Nicole makes. But it’s also sweet, the way their noses bump and Waverly squirms when Nicole nips a little too hard. She’s still a touch nervous and tries not to think about the fact she’s never been with a woman before, but when Nicole slips her hand between them, breath ghosting across her skin, it stops being a factor in their equation.

Time shudders to a stop. Suddenly she’s a child again, thrown back into a memory of Daddy driving her, Willa and Wynonna down from the Rockies. They hit a patch in the road and she feels a jolt in her stomach, like when you’re barrelling down a roller coaster and your body is thrust into stasis.

Waverly decides she could stand to feel a little more of that.

A sudden rush of bravery overcomes her and she straddles Nicole’s waist. One hand anchors her in place before the other reaches between them again and she knows Nicole would never ask that question the way Champ did because how could Nicole not know, how could Nicole not tell, as Waverly rocks against strong fingers, body undulating until she seizes and sees bright stars even when her eyelids are screwed shut.

Waverly works on getting air back into her lungs and fights through the fog in her mind. Cuts through the surplus of hormones surging unapologetically through her. The thought starts to take shape on her lips.

‘Nicole, I—’ she begins.

‘I know, baby,’ Nicole smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I love you too.’

There’s a knock on the door moments later. ‘Are you guys done yet? Because I made pasta for dinner and it’s so fucking good and you’re probably going to need carbs for your workout—’

Nicole chokes on a kiss to Waverly’s thigh.

‘—maybe some water, too,’ Wynonna adds thoughtfully.


End file.
